


Advantageous

by insertcleveruserhere



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A little bit of angst, Angst, Canon Trans Character, F/M, Fluff, NSFW, Oral Sex, Smut, female inquisitor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 06:44:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13828704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insertcleveruserhere/pseuds/insertcleveruserhere
Summary: The spot is tactically advantageous.It’s what Krem has to tell himself, why he sits over there every waking moment he’s in the tavern, so he doesn’t feel like he’s wasting his time. It’s Bull’s blind spot – his boss can see up the stairs, around the tavern, up the stairs, and has a clear shot of the bar, but he can’t see the patrons along that wall, and more importantly, cant see who’s walking in and out at the door. Bull assumed that was why Krem sat himself down in that corner, with a clear shot to the door.Partly, it’s true. He can see anyone walking in or out, give Bull a quick wave if it’s someone who might be dangerous, give Bull the peace of mind that everywhere is covered, even if it’s not just by the lumbering Qunari.But, truly, for him, he enjoys being able to be the first to see her walk in. Being the first person she approaches with that bright smile and ask him seemingly never ending questions about everything, especially stories that she could just have easily approached Bull for.





	Advantageous

**Author's Note:**

> Unedited. I didn't even read this after writing it. But, I was aching for more Krem so here you go.

The spot is tactically advantageous. 

It’s what Krem has to tell himself, why he sits over there every waking moment he’s in the tavern, so he doesn’t feel like he’s wasting his time. It’s Bull’s blind spot – his boss can see up the stairs, around the tavern, up the stairs, and has a clear shot of the bar, but he can’t see the patrons along that wall, and more importantly, cant see who’s walking in and out at the door. Bull assumed that was why Krem sat himself down in that corner, with a clear shot to the door. 

Partly, it’s true. He can see anyone walking in or out, give Bull a quick wave if it’s someone who might be dangerous, give Bull the peace of mind that everywhere is covered, even if it’s not just by the lumbering Qunari. 

But, truly, for him, he enjoys being able to be the first to see her walk in. Being the first person she approaches with that bright smile and ask him seemingly never ending questions about everything, especially stories that she could just have easily approached Bull for.

Today is one of the days where she stumbles in, half a grin on her face as she begins to make her rounds. Krem always felt some tugging of pride that he was the start and end of her conversations, and on days that he could manage to convince her to stay, he would be the only conversation. 

“Krem.” Tereysa Trevelyan says simply, practically buzzing with energy, “I’ve missed you.”

Rumor had it she cleared out the Fallow Mire, an impressive feat, with Cassandra, Dorian, and Cole. Bull had grumbled for weeks about how he’d wanted to go along with her, but Cassandra insisted she be the one to go for reasons unknown and unquestioned. 

“The feeling’s mutual, your worship.”

She crinkles her nose at the name, though it’s become something of a joke between them. “Avanne, soporati kaffas.” It was dangerous for her to speak in their native tongue in public, but her voice was hushed as she insulted him in jest, loosely translating to common as ‘hello to you too, you shitty sleeper’.

As he motioned for the barmaid to bring them a round of drinks, he recalled her reaction back on the Coast when Bull insulted Krem just as she did, telling him to move the casks with blood magic because he was of Tevinter. She’d crossed her arms over her chest, raised a brow, and said – he remembers it to this day as it still brought a smile to his lips – “I wouldn’t recommend that, soporati. Rumor has it the Qunari leash their mages.” The color drained from Bull’s face, but he carried on smoothly. 

“Not all of us had the opportunities you’ve had, Lady Trevelyan.”

She leans back in her chair, thanking the barmaid when their drinks arrive, “Not all of us spent half their lives moving around the world constantly and the other half in a Circle, but we’ve all our tragic origin stories it seems.” She raises the tankard to her lips, shamelessly watching Krem’s bottle as it meets his lips.

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Anyway, how’ve things been here? Spent your time pining after me?”

There was more truth behind that question than he’d like to admit, but instead, he snorts and says, “Wouldn’t you like to think so?”

She bites her lip, setting her tankard on the table, “I certainly would, soporati.”

Soporati used to be an insult, back when he lived in Tevinter, but when the Tevinter Inquisitor smiles at him like that, using it like that…he’s certain she’s flirting with him, wants to believe she means it, but he knows she flirts with everyone.

She was always finding new ways to make the Commander blush, always complimenting Scout Harding and bringing her small gifts, flirting shamelessly with Sera, ending up in Bull’s lap whenever they drink too much, making Cassandra blush and stammer and groan about the horrible puns, and sitting with Dorian over tea, laughing and flirting and ogling the soldiers to no end. Krem was just another flirt, but he couldn’t not return the favor.

Tereysa was going to be the death of him. 

\--

She’s asked him to come along with him to the Storm Coast, along with Blackwall and Varric, to find some of the Grey Warden artifacts found there. He doesn’t protest, especially not like Bull does, and he’s almost excited to go.

The trip there is longer than it would have been from Haven, but not by much. 

It’s so different, seeing her in her robes with her staff rather than her ugly Inquisitor garbs that she insists are comfortable. She claims she’s a storm mage, but he’s seen the Fade seep from her fingers, healing her fallen companions. He likes to watch, to observe how she moves and how she handles herself. 

Her hair is the most animated part of her, tight black curls bouncing with every step and sway. From the front, it’s hard to miss the glow of her yellow eyes, something she claims to be the mastery of her magic, the Fade seeping into her very being. 

The spot is tactically advantageous. 

He tells himself that as he walks behind her. He’s able to watch the surrounding areas, able to make sure no one flanks them, able to make sure that she’s safe. He convinces himself it’s because she’s his boss, not because he likes to watch the sway of her hips, or the way she ties her hair back every so often. It’s tantalizing and all too intoxicating, 

“Krem, won’t you walk with me?” She asks, and just like that, he’s moved from his advantageous spot to walking shoulder to shoulder with an awkward distance between them. They stay like that for a solid hundred feet before she nudges him with the elbow connected to the Anchor.

He remembered that night after Haven, when the Commander ran in, with their Herald – their Inquisitor – in his arms, and feels a pang of guilt in his chest. He’d insisted he be a part of the search party, but Lady Cassandra refused. The refugees needed them. 

“When I asked you to walk with me, I assumed that implied conversation would be involved.” She smirks, and his eyes deviate from her hand to her staff. It had a blade and a glowing purple rock on the end that occasionally erupted with uncontained electricity strapped on to the end, and she wielded the staff like a pole arm.

“I am yours to converse with, your worship.”

Again, she scrunches her nose at him, “Very well. What is it you find so appealing about me? And not the hand, for Andraste’s sake, we know one another better than that, amatus.”

She says it so easily. He wonders if it means nothing to her. It’s the first time she’s called him that, and his throat dries. He wants to ask her about it, but she gives him a pointed look, expecting an answer. There was so much, he thought, but his mind and mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

“You…” He licks his lips, and for a fraction of a second, he’s convinced he sees her eyes flicker downward, “You fight good.”

She visibly deflates at that, just for a moment, before straightening back up and rolling her eyes, “Wow, I ought to have Josie emblazon that on a plaque, hm? ‘Inquisitor Tereysa Annette Trevelyan. She fights good’.” Her voice is scarily similar to that of Cullen’s when he begins to rant, but Krem says nothing on the matter. 

“Alright, alright, you’re not terrible company either.” He’s regained some sense of being, though he’s convinced he’s thrown any and all chance of whatever it was they had out the window. “What about me?”

“What about you, amatus?” 

There it was again.

“What’d’you find so appealing about me?” He asks, and immediately regrets it. He didn’t want to know, or to have her scoff, or laugh at him or whatever other horrible ideas his mind can conjure up.

She pauses to study him, an uncharacteristically serious look passing over her face before she answers, “Your presence.” She smiles a bit there, the corners of her lips turning up, “You always…I dunno, brighten up the room. You always make things easier…Te quiero más que a nada.”

His brow furrows a bit, “That wasn’t Tevene.”

“Top marks.” She compliments, “Antivan. Josephine is my sister-in-law. Born in Tevinter, raised in Antiva, grew up in Rivain, and shipped off to the Marches as soon as I heard the music.” She sighs through her nose, that placid smile still on her face.

“But what did you say?” He asks, trying to run the words through his head once more. 

Tereysa shakes her head, “It isn’t important, amatus. What is important is that I believe we are nearing our destination. Shall we?”

\--

The spot was tactically advantageous, no matter how humiliating it felt. 

The Inquisitor – Tereysa – could see him at any moment, sitting primly in front of Josephine’s desk as he waited for the Antivan woman to return. He ran the words through his head for what had to be the millionth time that day alone. It had been a week since she said them, and he was sure he’d butchered them beyond recognition at this point, but it was worth a shot. 

He stands, flinching as Josephine bustles into the room, a force to be reckoned with. It takes her a moment to realize he’s in there, but he’s the first to speak.

“Lady Montilyet.”

“Ah, Cremisius. I assume you are here to collect the Chargers’ incentive for investigating Redcliffe castle? King Alistair was none too happy to hear about the happenings there, but I assured him we had the best – you’re not here for that, are you?” She asks, looking him over, waving her pen with a flourish.

“I, um…I can be, yes, but…I, Lady Montilyet…” He takes a deep breath, “Tereysa – the Inquisitor – said something to me in Antivan. I…would you be able to translate?”

Josephine smiles softly, “Of course. What did she say?”

Krem sits as Josephine does, furrowing his brown, “Tea keero moss kaya nada? I’m certain I’ve completely ruined it, but I can’t seem to remember it exactly, and I’m sure my accent’s completely terrible, but…are you alright, Lady Ambassador?”

A placid look crosses Josephine’s eyes, and her lips pucker a bit, “You are certain she said that?”

“I…I think so?”

Josephine shakes her head, “I…I apologize, Lieutenant, but I cannot…I do not know what was said.” She and Krem stand, and she begins to back him toward the door. “It would be best if you did not ask anyone else about this. Good day, Cremisius.” 

Left completely confused, Krem crosses his arms over his chest, ever reminded by the Maker-be-damned binder against his chest. Josephine shuts the door, and he would never admit to the tears pricking at his eyes. 

“Krem?”

He whirls around, surprised to find Tereysa standing there, looking more casual than he’d ever seen her. She wears a loose navy shirt that hangs off her shoulders, her hair sprawled around her shoulders without a care. She looks every part the concerned friend, and reaches out to touch his arm. 

“Are you alright, amatus?”

“I…” Her hand burns on his forearm, but he can’t bring himself to move it or pull away, “What did you say that day?”

Tereysa purses her lips, her hand falling away from his. 

“Come to my quarters tonight. I’ll…tell you then. If you don’t come, I understand.” She sighs, refusing to meet his eyes, “We can’t do this here, or…” 

\--

He spends a half hour convincing himself that he does want to go.

He spends another hour telling himself that it’s Tereysa, and it can’t be some cruel joke. 

He spends another fifteen minutes pacing the top floor of the tavern, wondering what exactly she could want.

And then Cole – Cole? – the spirit boy Tereysa insists on keeping around finds him, appearing from seemingly nothing, sitting on the handrail.

“You’re scared.” He claims, and Krem feels his heart jump to his throat. “You don’t need to worry. She gets nervous around you too. ‘Te quiero más que a nada’.” He’s holding a flower, pulling at the petals, and Krem realizes that this boy just said those words. 

“What does that mean?” Krem insists, “Those words. What are they?”

“Words that mean more than he knows, tongue on lips, wish tongue was on my lips, hands in hair, sheets and sweat…‘Te quiero más que a nada’. ‘I love you more than anything.’”

Krem decides he’ll go that night. 

He decides not to tell Bull, and tries not to think about the fact that Cole just confessed Tereysa’s love to him. 

\--

He tries to be suave, like the gentlemen in those trashy novels Varric writes. He tries to be smooth and kind and good, but he has to convince himself to knock on the door first. He’s made it as far as the door to her room, almost thankful he wasn’t wearing his armor, before he thinks about making a complete ass of himself, and considers turning away. 

Before common sense can take hold, he knocks. Once. Twice. 

The spot was terrible. He could be over come from at least two different ways, and with Tereysa on the other side, he was certain he would fall over if he stumbled over his feet or his words or whatever else he managed to mess up.

“It’s open!” She calls, muffled by the door, and he wonders if that’s really the best idea for the Inquisitor. 

He finds her sitting behind her desk, and realizes why she let him in without opening the door herself. She’s clenched her fist, and his eyes fall to the storm trap on the ground, sedate for the moment. 

“You’re prepared for some un-choice company?”

She waves her hand, dismissing the trap and chuckles, “One can never be too prepared.” She stands, leaving behind the mounds of paperwork.

“You…” He clears his throat and pauses, “You wanted to see me.”

“You already know what I said that day, don’t you?” She crosses her arms over her chest. She leans against her desk, and he’s made his way to the couch. He refuses to step any closer. 

“I…have an inkling of an idea.” 

She looks to the ground and chuckles, “I didn’t mean to concern you. I…just…I apologize Krem. It’s completely…completely unprofessional, and uncalled for.” A pained smile crosses her lips, and he wills himself to take a small step forward.

“I…I don’t…” He fumbles, cursing himself silently, “It’s not.”

She looks up at him expectantly, unsure, and takes four steps closer, closing the awkward distance between them. “What did I tell you that day?” Her voice is hoarse, close to a whisper, “Do you know what I said?”

Slowly, tentatively, he reaches out to take the anchored hand in his own, “I love you too, Tereysa.”

Without hesitating, she pulls him down with her free hand, their kiss sloppy and clashing and unexpected, but she interlaces their fingers, pulling him ever closer. The kiss ends, eventually, and he gasps for breath as she trails kisses from his jaw to his neck, licking and kissing and biting, and it’s so much more than he’d ever anticipated, and so much more, so much better. 

It’s a bit awkward as he pulls her toward the bed, after asking for her confirmation the third time if she really wanted this, but she’s the one who lays him down tenderly, smiling at him, cheeks flushed and breath sporadic. 

She wastes no time in removing clothes, her shirt being the first to go, revealing everything from the waist up. She tosses the mound of fabric in some random direction, kissing Krem with a newfound fervor, her fingers teasing his sides with small circles. 

There’s bound to be a sea of bruises on both of their necks by the time she’s kicking off her pants, laughing when her feet get stuck and she nearly falls off the bed. Krem catches her, teasing her for both getting stuck and falling. 

“I love you.” She promises, kissing his lips, “I love you so much.” 

He hesitates when she goes to pull of his shirt, but leans up so she can pull it off. She stops to look, to admire, and grins, “I mean it.” She presses a long kiss to the hollow of his throat, finishing it with a quick nip.

“You can’t be real.” He says, laying against the lush Antivan sheets, “You’re too beautiful.”

“This is real.” She promises, tossing his newly removed pants in the general direction of their clothes pile, “We are real.” He brings himself down to kiss her once more, as if he might wake up and realize it wasn’t. 

He locks his legs around her waist, and rolls them over in one swift movement. She’s giggling like a giddy schoolgirl, but stops as soon as his lips enclose around her left nipple, drawing a gasp from her. 

“Tereysa.” He mutters against her skin, “Festis bei umo canavarum.”

She rocks her hips up to meet his, groaning at the contact. Her fingernails bite into his shoulders as she falls into a language Krem doesn’t know, whispering words of encouragement, and gasping whenever his tongue lavished a new area.

“Krem.” She pants, “Venhedis, amatus.” Tereysa swears, “Touch me, please.” 

“Of course.” He smirks up at her, “Your worship.”

She doesn’t have time to crinkle her nose before he’s lowered himself down to her hips, pulling the laces of her underclothes, tossing the fabric aside. Pressing a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh, she weaves her fingers in his hair, not hesitating to praise him.

His finger grazes the soft mound of black curls, and she moans out, so responsive for him. 

The spot is tactically advantageous as he lowers his mouth down, flicks his tongue out for a taste. Already, she’s a mess of moans and pants, hands coaxing him on.

“I love you.” She swears, “Fasta vass, I love you so much, Krem.”

He could listen to that prayer for the rest of his life, should she let him. Her heels press into his back as he ravishes her, tongue and lips and teeth searching for that spot that would completely unravel her. 

“There!” She cries out, her fingers tightening in his hair, “Right there, Krem, please!” He can’t – won’t – deny her, licking and thrusting his fingers, drawing moans from her like songs. 

She cums, bringing her right hand up to her mouth to stifle the scream threatening to escape. 

Tereysa’s panting as he pulls away, smiles down at him. “Krem.” She says, halfway out of breath, “Your turn.”

“You don’t have -.” She cuts him off with a kiss, skillfully rolling them back over. 

She nips at the hollow of his throat, “I do.” 

“Tereysa.” He hisses, and she thumbs the bottom of his binder. 

“Are you alright?” She asks, “You don’t have to take it off if you don’t want.”

He kisses her, hand on the back of her neck, “It’s alright.” 

She smiles, more to herself than him. The binder, just like the rest of their clothes, is tossed to the side. 

“I love you.” He promises, and in that moment, it’s enough.

“Te quiero más que a nada.” She promises, “I love you more than anything.”

She kisses down his chest, leaving love bites and whispering sweet nothings. 

He could never have dreamed that he would end up in the quarters of the Inquisitor, tossed against her bed sheets with Tereysa between his legs, finger fucking him into the tomorrow. 

“Fuck me.” He pleads, “Fuck me, please Tereysa.” 

She leans down to press a fleeting kiss, and says, “No me dejes.” She pleads, and he groans, the vibrations sending heat straight to his core. “Por favor.”

“Wh-what…what are you saying?” He asks, her nails digging into his sides. 

“Don’t leave.” She pleads, “Please.”

“Never.” He promises, pulling her closer, ever closer, “Never.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hell-bound. See y'all there.


End file.
